Consciences
by MadameHappy
Summary: On their way to rescue Peter from Yondu, Rocket fumes and ponders over life.


**AUTHOR'S NOTE**

 **It had taken a rather ridiculous amount of time to write this story.**

 **This was a request from a guest, who wanted me to write my version of Rocket's origins. I think that the reason why it took so long was because I had overloaded with different ways to approach that very open concept request, but I did it! I hope you enjoy it.**

 **The only way I am associated with Stan Lee, Guardians of the Galaxy and Marvel is through my hyperactive imagination.**

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 **Consciences**

 **By MadameHappy**

Rocket was angry.

He was angry at Peter, for getting himself captured. He understood that he didn't want Gamora to die, but calling Yondu and sacrificing himself for her was completely unnecessary. If the Ravagers killed them both before they got to them, there wasn't any point. In the back of his rage-fuelled mind, it occurred to him how ironic it was- in the beginning, selling Peter to Yondu would have been the best thing that could have happened to him, and now it became second-worst; the worst being anything having to do with Drax the fucking Destroyer.

He was angry at Groot- partly for convincing him to save them, mainly for having such a huge damn heart. It was hard to find someone so (dare he think) pure-hearted and innocent anywhere in the galaxy, especially one that dabbled in mercenary work. On the rare occasion that you did, you felt like you couldn't refuse that person anything, no matter how much of a fuck-up you were. Rocket couldn't say no to him even if he wanted to.

He was angry at Drax. He blamed him for calling Ronan, which caused a completely unnecessary chain of events that led to the Stone falling into the hands of the biggest lunatic in the galaxy, and Quill's capture with Gamora. Drax was now responsible for the potential destruction of the universe, and everyone else had to clean up his mess.

Never mind all those things he had called him at the bar. He was supposed to be used to it, but he wasn't, and that was why he was angry at himself the most.

Rocket never let himself show weakness. He never talked about his past. No one needed to know, and he had a reputation as an angry, trigger-happy badass to uphold, which was hard enough, being some furry, little, whatever-he-was _._ But throwing all of that out of the window he spilled, drunk and angry, and now everyone in that bar knew too much.

On the bright side, it wasn't news to Groot. Groot had known for a long time. Rocket had told him one night (drunk, go figure), and he was the only person he confided in. He saw the expression on his face in that bar- his eyebrow bark furrowed only just, his expressive eyes filled with sadness. It brought him back to his senses, in that moment of pure anger, when he was just about ready to shoot everyone in the damn room.

It was a hard story, and even if the Nova Corps had some sort of background on him, they would never understand the horror of being him. Of being Rocket.

Of being Subject 89P13.

He didn't remember all of what happened to him in Halfworld. He remembered a lot of pain, a lot of hours spent in sedation, and a lot of time seeing lab coats and goggles and needles on a daily basis. He couldn't think much else about anything else when he was being made because he couldn't make much sense of anything at the time. All he felt was pain and trauma, and those feelings became his first memories.

He would have to admit bitterly though that those Halfworld scientists were thorough. Endless cutting up resulted in genetic enhancements on the hands, straightening of the spine, expansion of the cerebral cortex, and finally the learning. Knowledge about weapons, wires, and technology was forced down him constantly, punished if he could not achieve the skill sets expected of him.

The sick bastards of Halfworld wanted to create a controllable, skilled fighter out of a lower life form, and they nearly succeeded.

The thing about Subject 89P13 was that he did not take kindly to being controlled.

He escaped Halfworld quite easily with the knowledge he was given, hijacked a ship, and one of the biggest achievements Halfworld ever made shot away from them and never looked back.

From then on, Subject 89P13 travelled the cosmos, living the life of an outlaw and finding his way around streets and corners, around the Nova Corps and around security. Then, after a little incident involving a rather valuable set of jewellery, he began his involvement in mercenary work.

Being a mercenary became the occupation he lived for. The job allowed and almost required him to do the two things he loved doing- taking his anger out on the world's fortunate by stealing from them, and having the liberty to do whatever the hell he liked.

He was free, and he was unstoppable.

However, he was lacking one thing: a name. He not only wanted a new name, but needed it. 'Subject 89P13' was an alias he could no longer afford to use for obvious reasons, and he wanted to be free of the one thing that still bound him to that horrible lab.

In the beginning, names were difficult; after several names tried and skipped, finding a name that suited him became a tedious task. Finally, however, one particular night in a bar, he engaged himself in a Rocket Whiskey drinking contest with one of that bar's many slobs. Naturally, he won.

The people at that bar fondly called him Rocket that night, and the name stuck when he left.

He continued to spend his time stealing from people and handing people in. He got caught up in bar fights and earned his reputation. Then he met Groot.

Groot came into the picture during his eighth escape from prison, when they were forced to share a cell with some others due to overcrowding. Rocket was in it for theft and arson, and Groot was in for GBH.

It took a while to translate all his 'I am Groot's into something comprehensible, but once he did, they became partners. Groot helped him escape, and Rocket's adventures became Groot's as well. Rocket had to admit that before Groot, having a partner in life and crime wasn't something he had planned on having. But damn it if it ever stopped him from getting one.

It was just the way he wanted it. And now, years later, this happened.

Even up until now, Rocket didn't know how he let himself come to this moment in time. He wasn't one for saving lives. He wasn't one for sacrifice. And yet, here he was, flying the Milano towards Yondu Udonta's ravager craft.

Rocket was a thieving scoundrel. A scoundrel that somehow grew a conscience when he met the three new idiots in his life. He didn't know how it started. Maybe Groot was rubbing off on him. Maybe, for once, in his miserable life, he wanted to do something right.

But he knew he'd be damned if he left Peter and Gamora to rot.

Rocket punched in the last of the coordinates and went back to his unfinished Hadron Enforcer. The details of the plan weren't worked out yet, but one thing he was sure of was that it will involve a lot of blowing up.

He smirked to himself secretively, no longer angry.

After all, it's what he does best.

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 **GLOSSARY:**

 **GBH- Grievous Bodily Harm**

 **That's all, folks! Thank you so much for reading this, and to the guest, sorry for the delay. :)**

 **Reviews would be very much appreciated. I would love it if you gave me your two cents. Praise will be enjoyed, constructive criticism acknowledged and flames ignored.**

 **This work is also available on under the same username: MadameHappy. If you would like to see my works there, be my guest!**

 **-Happy :)**


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